Coming Home
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself. Soren Kierkegaard
1. Chapter 1

**Coming Home**

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

**Disclaimer**: Other than being a fan, I have absolutely _nothing_ to do with Stargate: Atlantis in _any_ way, shape or form.

**Author's Note**: I would like to send an extra-special 'Thank You' to my triplet-sister who, despite knowing nothing about Stargate: Atlantis, acted as my sounding-board, editor and beta-reader for this story. This story is the sequel to _Three Years to Eternity, _and I strongly recommend that you read that story first before continuing on with this one.

**Spoiler Warning**: anything and everything up to _Ghost in the Machine_.

* * *

"_It's time."_

_She looks up from her packed bags, the frayed ends of leather ties slipping out of her fingers. Jiaha, the eldest of the young women of the family-sisters and a dear friend, stands in the doorway. She can tell from the look on the younger woman's face that she's trying very hard not to cry. Unable to find her own voice, she stands up from her neatly-made bed. She runs a smoothing hand over an imaginary wrinkle in the hand-woven blanket. It is her gift to the next family-sister who will live in this room after her. She doesn't look around at the bare yet cozy furnishings of the space that, until mere hours ago, she's called hers for the past two years of her life. If she does, she's afraid that she'll lose her nerve to leave behind the only home she knows—remembers—for a future that is harshly uncertain._

She woke with his hand covering hers. Protocol told her to withdraw from his touch—he was a stranger to her in every way: a non-blood-related male with no familial or acquaintance ties to her, not even as a person of Reiia or any of her allies. Instinct made her curl her fingers over his and smile when his eyes met hers. She had held his hand before — when, she didn't know.

"Hi," she said quietly, almost shyly. She knew him, in a double-sense of stranger and friend, of past and before-past. He smiled politely back at her, carefully withdrawing his hand from her grip, his eyes searching hers almost anxiously for a hint of…something. It was almost like watching a turtle — what sort of creature was that? — curl back into its protective shell, sensing approaching danger and taking prudent action to avoid being injured.

"Good morning," he said. The silence that fell between them was awkward, not just for the silence of strangers, but for the edge of tension between them, this hint that she ought to know more of the situation than she did. It was an impasse that was broken by the arrival of one of the Lantean healers, a petite woman with brunette hair, kind brown eyes and gentle hands, who hustled him out of the room with a brisk, "Go get some rest, Colonel, before I call Ronon and Teyla down here to haul you to your quarters."

Watching him obey the other woman's orders, she felt a pang of sadness when he did not turn back to bid her goodbye before he left. She wondered what their past together was like, if they even had a past. She was distracted from her thoughts when the healer touched her shoulder and began asking questions with cheery kindness and reassuring smiles, talking her through every procedure that was unfamiliar with explanations and distracting stories.

The physical examination was brief, with the healer declaring her to be in good health, besides a nasty headache and some lingering fatigue. The cheerful woman asked her to stay for a little while longer, to make sure she "really was all right" before the other woman released her from the infirmary. The two of them exchanged warm, if polite, farewells before the healer went off to attend the rest of her duties.

Within seconds of the other woman's departure, Medora slipped silently into the room and, with brisk strides, came to her bedside. With a smooth gesture, the dark-haired diplomat unfastened her silk veil from her face and tucked the cloth absentmindedly into the belt at her waist. There was the faintest look of panic in the young woman's eyes, an expression that she had only seen a handful of times before in her friend.

In fact, the last time she had seen that glimmer of tightly controlled fear in the other diplomat's features, well… the negotiations had ended abruptly and rather violently on their hosts' part. There was hysterical screaming, attempted stabbings and threats of massacres all around. She herself had ended up taking the local mayor's daughter hostage with a dagger to the throat in order to buy time for her subordinates to escape. Needless to say, Reiia had broken off the treaty negotiations with that particular planet. She hoped that wouldn't be the case this time; given the heavy security around the 'gate and the sheer military power of their hosts, she knew that no one from their delegation had any hope of escaping from the city if the Lanteans did not allow it. This was the risk that every single diplomat took whenever they stepped off of Reiia and it was a fact of her duties that she and all of her companions accepted without qualm.

She tilted her head in silent query, only to be rebuffed by her friend's pursed lips—a subtle warning to shush. It took a moment before she could place the most recent time she had received that response. If she remembered correctly, it was nearly a year past since she had seen Medora so upset to the point of voiceless signals. She had seen it during the delicate opening negotiations with the Klictans, another incident that had nearly ended with naked steel and spilled blood. However, once certain cultural misunderstandings were resolved, the Klictans had been more than pleased to supply Reiia with a squash fruit that was a favorite of many households, in return for bolts of Reiian cloth.

With a sideways glance at the closed infirmary door, Medora gently touched her arm with cold fingers. Even though the other woman's posture appeared to be relaxed, she fancied that she could feel the concealed tension humming through her friend's muscles. All the subtle signals she was receiving told her that something was wrong, something had happened while she was unconscious that made the normally placid junior diplomat fearful for her safety. What the threat was and how severe it was, she didn't know, but Medora's behavior was enough for her to cast her eyes around the room until she saw her slim _kakea_ baton. The polished wooden rod had been set atop of her folded clothes, and the entire stack had been nearly placed on a nearby chair within hand's reach. The _kakea_ baton was the only weapon that she, as a diplomat, was allowed to carry with her at all times, and she took comfort in the knowledge that she was proficient enough in its defensive art to crack a man's skull if she had to.

"Asa, are you well?" asked Medora, her voice serene and unhurried as she causally used her nickname, and by doing so, sending a wordless cue for both of them to act normal. Like the majority of the diplomatic corps, the young woman was a consummate actress under pressure, able to shutter her emotions and thoughts behind a blandly polite mask when the situation called for it. She could see that those hard-trained skills were being utilized now to project an air of blissful ignorance and friendly concern over suspicious caution. She smoothly played along with her friend's act of nonchalance.

"I am fine," she responded, covering Medora's hand with her own. She lightly squeezed the young woman's fingers, signaling acknowledgement of the situation. "Help me?"

The younger woman responded with a nod and immediately held out her hands to assist her in standing. Assuming that they were at the least being eavesdropped upon, if not covertly watched, she laughed quietly, "I am not a complete invalid."

Medora relaxed her posture even more, nearly appearing indolent to a casual observer, and smiled slightly, "I never implied that you are, but you are my elder…" There was a mirthful way to her words, an amusement that did not extend to her eyes, even though the rest of her body spoke to her supposed ease of mind. She turned around, picked up the soft boots that were tucked underneath the chair, and handed the footwear to her.

"Oh please…" She rolled her eyes as she slipped on the warm leather shoes before she wrapped the bedclothes around her. Setting the _kakea_ rod on the bed within easy reach of either woman, Medora handed her the neat stack of her uniform.

"Do you need help?"

"Only for the lacing," she responded, shamelessly unknotting the ties of the odd backless gown and letting the white cloth fall into her lap before she quickly slipped her shapeless white tunic over her head. The silky cloth was cold against her skin, but it felt familiar and comfortable to her. She tugged her curls out of the way as Medora let out a breathless chuckle and reached over to do the loose ties of the knee-length tunic, tightening the lacing only enough to give the faintest hints of the older woman's figure. As required by their station as members of the higher diplomatic corps, both women wore their tunics loosely to turn their counterparts' focus to their words, rather than on the shape of their bodies as some members of the lower corps were comfortable with. As her friend performed that task, she occupied herself with folding the shapeless gown into a neat square and placed it on the rumpled bedsheets.

Once Medora was done, she carefully slipped off of the edge of the infirmary bed. When her balance wavered, her friend was there with a steadying hand under her elbow. She shook her head carefully, declining the younger woman's silent offer of help before she picked up the singular cloth that formed her petticoat and loosely wrapped the long cloth around her waist to create a wide skirt. Without a word, Medora pulled the ties out of her hands and adjusted them to knot at her left hip. She held back a sigh at her friend's over-attentiveness (even though she was still shaky on her feet), and turned her attention to slipping into her formal gown, the spring-green dress that was her identifying color for these negotiations. This part, she needed Medora's assistance, since the buttons that fastened the back of her formal robes were beyond the reach of her flexibility to do without performing physically impossible contortions.

After she was properly laced and buttoned into her clothes, it only took another minute or two before she had the comfortable weight of her _kakea_ rod resting against her thigh, one end of the wooden baton fastened to her belt with a deceptively-delicate looking silver chain. Besides acting as an anchor, the chain could be used in a debilitating blow across the eyes or mouth of an attacker, if wielded properly. When that was done, Medora handed her the last part of her outfit: her veil.

There was something in the other woman's eyes that made her pause before she accepted the two pieces of silk and the requisite fastening pins. She asked softly, the words barely drifting into the air between them, "What is wrong?"

Medora shook her head slightly, her voice just as low when she responded, "I am not sure. Sebian is speaking with them."

Recognizing the evasive maneuver, she leveled a stern look at the young woman, "What are you not telling me?"

"They…" The sliding hiss of the door interrupted their conversation and both women turned around to see Mr. Richard Woolsey, the leader of Atlantis, move cautiously into the room. It did not escape her notice that Medora's hands had immediately come to rest demurely on her own _kakea_ rod, fingers positioned in a way to have the baton in hand and ready to throw in a heartbeat. Still wondering what had transpired to make the younger woman so protective, she let herself copy her friend's posture.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Woolsey apologetically before he cleared his throat, "My apologies for the interruption, Diplomat Asabeth. Diplomat Medora, but I believe Councilor Sebian is looking for you."

He gave them both a half-bow, and she recognized the gesture as one of his nervous actions. For some reason, everyone around her was highly unnerved by…something. Medora inclined her head in acknowledgement of the message as she dropped in a slight curtsey, but made no move to leave the room. Instead, she stared at the older man with an expression akin to polite defiance. In response, his expression was diplomatically bland, but both women could sense his apprehension. He clearly did not want to escalate to meet Medora's silent challenge.

"He was somewhat urgent in his request to speak to you," prompted Mr. Woolsey again when he saw Medora clearly had no intention of leaving her friend's side. The tension in the room grew thick enough to cut with a knife. Following her instincts, she decided that the situation had gone quite far enough, and that it needed to be defused before the negotiations broke down completely.

"Mei," she murmured lowly, a quiet warning and reassurance that she could handle herself. She had her _kakea_ rod nearly in hand and at the ready. She could easily hold off a single attacker and handle two with grace. While she would be cautious, she didn't see the Lantean leader as a threat. He was nowhere near as young or robust as the muscular Town Guards she trained with on a daily basis.

Hearing the implicit orders in her tone, Medora nodded sharply, her displeasure clear in the worried glare she subtly shot at her friend as she said with cold civility, "Thank you, Mr. Woolsey."

"Diplomat Asabeth," Medora gave her a crisp half-bow of respect and she kept her expression neutral, betraying none of her surprise at the unexpected gesture. Besides the fact that the younger diplomat was her senior in rank, not the other way around, the old protocol formalities had been done away with generations ago, being judged as too cumbersome and complex to fluently teach all their negotiating diplomats. Medora continued, "I will return shortly."

All three negotiators in the room heard the implicit warning and sharp reminder in the young woman's words. There was already common courtesy observed, but for some reason, with the heavy stress the young woman put on Asabeth's title, she wanted it to be clear that this respect would continue. His body language revealing his acknowledgment of her unease, Mr. Woolsey carefully made way for her as she swept out of the room. He waited until Medora was gone before he approached her, hovering just out of arm's reach.

"I would like to apologize for what happened yesterday," he began steadily. "Would you permit me to explain?"

"Yes," she said quietly, gesturing at the empty chairs in the room with her free hand, "Please, let us sit and talk."

He nodded, "That would be a good idea."

_Stepping over the threshold, she nearly collides with Medora, her companion on that fateful trip to the city of the Ancestors. The other woman reaches out to steady her balance, and then doesn't let go. There is an expression of intense concentration on the young woman's face before she launches herself at Asabeth and holds on. It's the comforting embrace of a sister, and she clings back just as tightly. She sees Jiaha slip out of the room, carrying her bags and she mouths a silent "thank you" to the woman who merely inclines her head in acknowledgement._

_By all rights, Medora shouldn't be here, standing in this corridor, biding her farewell like a blood-sister. While the Reiians do not hold the women of the Sister-House responsible in any way for the variety of circumstances that led to their residence in this communal building, tradition still forbade any female visitors with still-living kin to set foot in the House. With a large blood-family of her own, Medora ought to be waiting to say her proper and formal farewells with the rest of the Diplomatic Corps, not now, and most certainly not here._

_Asabeth suspects that only Jiaha knows that the quiet young woman is in the House and she vows to never forget this kindness. Out of all the family-sisters, Jiaha is perhaps one of the most perceptive young women the House has fostered, and so while Asabeth has never spoken at length about the depth of her relationship with her colleague-friend, Jiaha knows what the younger woman means to Asabeth. Medora is a true sister and trusted friend, someone who willingly took the higher path and offered a helping hand to a trainee diplomat when it would have been easier to simply ignore her. The distant leave-taking ceremony that will take place at the edge of town will not come close to expressing the close bonds between the two of them. This embrace alone will have to somehow suffice for all the hours they have spent together in each other's company, learning, instructing and simply laughing. Medora has been her ever constant guide, unlikely friends they might have been, and it will be difficult to be without her presence and humor. What will be the hardest, though, is not knowing when, if, they will ever see each other again. That is the uncertainty that threatens to drown out her fragile hopes._

"_Be safe," whispers Medora before she pulls away, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Please promise me, you will be happy. Don't hesitate to come back to visit, and if anything happens, if you ever need anything at all, come here and find me. I'll always—"_

"_I know," she says simply, stilling her friend's babble. "I know. I will never forget our time together. Never. Thank you for everything."_

_She kisses Medora's cheek before she whispers, "May the Ancestors be with you."_

_It is a blessing that is returned with ardent fervor before the other woman grasps both of her hands for a long moment. Then Medora tears herself away, hurrying down the empty hallway, heading for the back of the House where there is a private door that will let her slip out unseen. Asabeth takes a moment to compose her emotions before she turns around one last time to see a familiar view. From the bed, to her desk and finally to the window of the room, she memorizes the layout of the furnishings, trying to imprint this memory so deeply that she will never forget this sanctuary. If she ever returns, as is her right as a former family-sister, this room will probably belong to someone else, a child or young woman, left alone in these worlds. With a steady hand, she grasps the doorknob and pulls the door shut, hearing it lock with a click. She closes her eyes and murmurs a prayer of safekeeping._

_She has no safe haven now to turn to._

_She's putting all of her faith in the word of one man._


	2. Chapter 2

**Coming Home**

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

**Disclaimer**: Other than being a fan, I have absolutely _nothing_ to do with Stargate: Atlantis in _any_ way, shape or form.

**Author's Note**: I would like to send an extra-special 'Thank You' to my triplet-sister who, despite knowing nothing about Stargate: Atlantis, acted as my sounding-board, editor and beta-reader for this story. This story is the sequel to _Three Years to Eternity, _and I strongly recommend that you read that story first before continuing on with this one.

**Spoiler Warning**: anything and everything up to _Ghost in the Machine_.

* * *

Even in the sun-draped corridors of Atlantis, she felt hunted and haunted as she strode briskly past the city's rattled residents. It was all too much to process coherently. A childish part of her wanted to scream until she got some truthful answers from somebody,_ anybody_, but she firmly quashed the urge to turn to her escorts and demand to know the whole story. She knew enough to know that Mr. Woolsey had left out important details when he had spoken to her, vital pieces to Elizabeth's—no, her—story, the answers to questions she had been asking herself for the past two years.

She paid little attention to the two Marines who trailed her by several strides. The two men had managed to stay with her, despite her brief intermingling with the other junior diplomats, following her since she had left the infirmary. They were respectful of her need for the semblance of privacy, but they were also very thorough in the performance of their duties. They never lagged too far behind her, but they were always at ready to interfere if necessary. She paid even less attention to the stares and whispers that followed in her wake. Her mind was occupied elsewhere.

"**You bear a startling resemblance to Elizabeth Weir, who was the first leader of this city. It's very complicated, what happened, but she was—there was an incident…"**

His words echoed in her head, the repercussions of the situation overwhelming in just sheer possibilities for her.

_You're the identical twin of a dead woman_, she thought to herself, trying to steady her breathing and starve off a panic attack. _You could _be_ the dead woman herself, Elizabeth…except that you're alive. If that's true, if you are her, if she is you, then she disappeared three years ago, but you only remember the past two years…what, in the name of the Ancestors, is going on?_

Terror and Relief took turns dominating her mind—she knew more of her past (_maybe, I don't know the whole story_), and too much of it remained unknown (_a missing year…why can't I remember it? Should I?_).

There are still too many unanswered, and unanswerable, questions.

_Who am I?_

She found herself roaming the crowded hallways of Atlantis, drifting through the city as she tried to organize her reeling thoughts. Even though she was veiled again, the silken cloth draped lightly over her lower face, people acted as if they knew who she was. Some Lanteans averted their gazes and pointedly stepped out of her way. Other residents stared at her as she walked past, a variety of emotions etched on their faces—grief, hope, caution, gratitude, bitterness, frustration, resentment, bland professionalism. Then there were the handful of people who hesitated when she walked past them, as if they were considering the idea of speaking to her, but none of them ever approached her.

_Am I Asabeth, daughter of Reiia?_

She didn't realize that she was walking as if she knew where she was going, and that she did know her final destination. Taking the corners as they came, she didn't notice that the corridors were becoming deserted or that her guards were getting a little nervous as they approached the boundaries of the secured areas of the city. She simply walked hallways that only seemed vaguely familiar, not like the comfort that they were to… her. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to snatch at memories that flittered out of her grasp whenever she tried to examine them, a mixture of voices and images of people and a city that she didn't remember, but, by virtue of her strain to remember, that she did.

_Or am I Elizabeth Weir, daughter of Lantea?_

Snapping out of her daze, she found herself standing in front of a door, which slid smoothly aside to reveal a balcony that overlooked the sea. The surge of familiarity was so strong that she crossed the threshold without a thought and went directly to the railing. The metal was warm to the touch and she rested her hands against the flat surface as the sea breeze swept across the balcony. She saw her guards stepping out onto the spacious terrace after her, but they abruptly came to attention.

_Do I even know anything for certain? Or is this all a dream?_

"Diplomat," a familiar voice drawled off to her left. She turned her head to see him leaning on the balcony railing not far from her. He casually tucked his hands into his pants' pockets and strode over to her side, giving a nod of dismissal at her guards. The two Marines vanished back into the city, leaving the two of them alone on the balcony. She wondered why her heart fluttered at that realization and why, as if it was the most normal routine in the worlds, she removed her veil from its fastenings, pushing her hood back with one hand while tucking the sheer fabric into a pocket with the other. He wasn't a stranger, but he was, so why was she treating him like they weren't unfamiliar with each other, were, in fact, as close as family?

"Colonel," she said evenly, folding her hands on the railing as he approached. He took up a relaxed stance next to her, his smile polite and distant, but there was something more to this conversation, she could feel it, or perhaps more precisely, she could feel what was _missing_. She could see his unease in the way his shoulders were just ever so slightly tense and how his charming grin didn't quite reach his eyes when he looked at her. She knew it in the way he was holding himself aloof from her, not like he usually was when he was with her, when he stood so close that the slightest wobble in her balance meant they would touch. He wasn't there with her, like he usually was when the two of them were alone, out on _their_ balcony.

_Not like he usually is? _she asked herself. _**Our**__ balcony? I don't remember this, but it feels so right to say that…why?_

"What brings you out here?" he asked lightly. On Reiia, his proximity to her would have led to gossip and rumors foretelling marriage in her near future. The fact that she was unveiled in his presence would have been fodder for people to say that they were engaged, at best, illicit lovers, at worst. Here, it probably would have raised eyebrows if anyone other than the two of them were to see her behavior, but… she felt cold, as if he wasn't close _enough_ to her. She sighed, her mind made up to give a simple excuse of needing fresh air, but her tongue betrayed her.

"I'm not sure," she said quietly, dropping her gaze to study her still hands. Her fingers seemed to belong to someone else, and so did her voice as she continued, "Mr. Woolsey spoke to me after you left this morning. I…I'm not sure what to think, about myself, about this, all of it." She closed her eyes against the ache of threatening tears and the hollow pounding of pain in her head. "It's just so much has happened in so little time. I'm reeling from all of it. I don't know what to say, or do, not anymore, not…"

"Yes." His response was more a hiss of air that escaped him than an actual word. She noticed that his eyes were firmly fixed on the horizon and that his posture had gone rigid as she spoke. She shook her head, "He didn't give me all the details of what happened to Elizabeth, to me. If she is me, or I mean, if I'm her, I don't know if we're the same person, and if I… I don't know. It's like I don't know a single thing about being Elizabeth Weir, but I feel… I feel like I know things that she knew, knows, I—"

She laughed somewhat bitterly, a few tears born of confusion and anxiety slipping down her cheeks, her voice taking on an edge of frantic hysteria that she had never heard from herself before, "I don't even know my own name anymore. I don't know if I'm Asabeth or Elizabeth, or if I'm both, or…"

She grasped the metal railing, feeling the smooth edges dig into her flesh, as if that sensation alone would be enough to ground her panic. She felt so vulnerable, but yet so safe, standing here next to him. She didn't understand this, this moment of speaking so honestly to a stranger she barely knew, but yet she did, a man who had greeted her so coldly only a day before and yet now she was confessing her inner turmoil to him as if…as if she had known him all her life and had chosen to spend the rest of her days by his side. It made no sense. Nothing about any of this made sense to her. She wished it did, but it didn't.

"She was—I am—" A breathy laugh of exasperation escaped her as she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her dress, "I don't even know what the proper grammar for this situation is…"

He smiled wryly at her, "I don't either." He shook his head slowly, "You're not the only one here who's trying to figure things out."

She stared at him, and her breath caught as a realization struck her. Before she could censor herself, she whispered in shock, "We were close, weren't we? Closer than…than we should have been?"

He flinched at her words. It was a barely perceptible reaction, more like a flitting expression of sorrow and regret in his eyes, but she saw it. She didn't know what that meant, that she saw it, and she didn't know if this was the right thing to be doing right now, talking to her former lover, or perhaps Elizabeth's former lover if she wasn't…oh Ancestors. She didn't know what in the worlds she was doing. Her rational sense, the part that wasn't in cationic shock from the sheer illogicality of the situation, was screaming at her to flee, but her feet stayed firmly rooted to her spot on the balcony.

"We were close," he said softly, and she could hear the raw honesty in his voice. "In the beginning, we had a few rough patches, but we became good friends." He looked out at the endless horizon, "Elizabeth carried a lot of responsibility on her shoulders as head of the city. I'm head of the military here, so I understood a little bit of what she was going through. We…we spent a lot of time together."

"A burden shared is a burden halved," she quoted softly. He smirked at her, a small glimmer of real emotion in his eyes, "You have that saying on Reiia as well."

She nodded, even though it wasn't a question. Prompted by the sorrow that settled on his expression as he looked away from her yet again, sorrow that she felt—no, _knew_—that she had put there somehow, she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

That earned her a reaction she had never expected to provoke. He looked sharply at her, grief and guilt blazing in his dark eyes as he snapped vehemently, "Don't be."

The pure anger in his voice made her take an involuntary step back from him and some of her fright must have shown in her expression because he immediately softened his tone, "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. It…" His eyes were windows into a chaotic whirlwind of shame and sorrow before he looked away from her again. He confessed in a whisper, "It was mine."

She stared at him, even as her feet brought her forward again, as if she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, "I don't…I don't understand."

"Woolsey didn't tell you?" His back was ramrod straight, shot through with so much tension that she could almost feel him vibrating with pent-up fury. She edged away from him slightly again, unnerved by the depth of emotion he was showing her, but a part of her wasn't scared at all at the raw display of rage she was witnessing. That part of herself was whispering reassuringly to her that he would never hurt her, not knowingly, not willingly, not if he could ever help it. She was safe. She could, and had, bet her life on that assumption. Her head was beginning to hurt with trying to keep track of everything she knew for certain and everything she knew as a whisper in the back of her mind.

"No," she responded, her voice surprisingly steady for all her nervousness, "all he said was that there was an accident, that I…I disappeared under very confusing circumstances, that you were told by my captors that I was dead."

"I wasn't there when the accident happened," he said flatly. "But afterwards…you were badly hurt when I got there. We tried to save you, but…in the chaos, it got too confusing, and we lost you. We didn't mean to leave you behind, but…"

She felt that there was something he wasn't saying to her, something that Mr. Woolsey had also left out of his explanation. Yet she could also feel his pain, the hatred he directed at himself for leaving her behind, no, leaving Elizabeth behind. So she did the only thing she could think of, as she bore the face and possessed the voice of a dead woman, she touched his hand gently and said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Really?" he said bitterly, unconvinced, "If we hadn't left you behind…you've been declared dead for three years, _three years_. You—" He cut himself off abruptly, his inner turmoil clearly too close to the surface for him to be comfortable with the uncharacteristic display.

She pulled her hand away as she repeated herself, "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. It was chaos, like you said. Things happen."

He shook his head and looked back out at the sea, his frown lines deep around his mouth. She wished he would laugh; she felt that he hadn't truly laughed in quite a long time. Gray was beginning to touch his hair ever so slightly, and she could see that the burden of command had settled hard on his shoulders after Elizabeth had died. She wished that she could ease his pain, but she wasn't sure she knew how…she wasn't sure if she could, "I don't blame you. I hope it helps to know that. I don't hold you responsible."

She silently added, _I don't think Elizabeth would either._

He closed his eyes for a moment before he sighed wearily, "Thank you."

She could tell he was just being polite, that he didn't believe her. Maybe he knew her doubts about herself, shared them with her over the important questions about who she really was. She could be Elizabeth's twin, unable to grant forgiveness in the other woman's name. She could be Elizabeth herself, but…she didn't know what she was forgiving him for, in that case. She could offer him all the platitudes and forgiveness in the worlds, but he wouldn't believe her until she believed in them herself.

She smiled a little at him, "You don't believe me."

He chuckled mirthlessly, "I'm that easy to read?"

She shook her head, "No, but I'm trained to figure these things out. There's a reason I'm called Diplomat Asa…" She trailed off, realizing that she now stood between two worlds with nothing to guide her. Nothing was certain. "I don't know what my name is anymore. It's like I've woken up all over again, confused and scared, a blank slate. I…"

"Like you're not sure who you're supposed to be?" he said quietly, "Like you can do things, but you don't know how you gained the knowledge, or that you even have it until you're in the middle of doing it? It all ends up feeling like you're just barely hanging onto memories that are important, but they're slipping away from you until you're afraid of losing everything that makes you You."

"Yes," she breathed and looked at him with hope, "You've been though something like that?"

He shrugged, "There was an epidemic in the city with symptoms a little like that a while back, but I think I can imagine it."

She looked out at the sea, "For the longest time, I couldn't sleep at night. I was afraid that I would forget everything I'd learned that day, and I'd wake up again, somewhere else with no memory of my life. I was terrified that I'd have to start all over again, from the beginning, because that's how I imagined it: that I went to bed one night and just simply…disappeared." She felt her lips curl into a bitter, but satisfied smile, "Except now I know what happened, and I don't have to worry about that anymore."

He had no response to offer to that.

The two of them stood in silence on the balcony, listening to the lulling wash of the ocean against the city's piers and soaking in the sun's warmth on a beautiful summer day. To her, it felt right, as if she belonged there, surveying the sweeping vista of Atlantis before her, with him standing by her side. Contentment swept over her, even as her headache, which hadn't abated at all since she left the infirmary, began to grow. Pushing aside the pain, she closed her eyes briefly, just listening, just feeling, just…being.

"We used to do this often, didn't we?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. She found him staring intensely at her and she felt a blush creep over her cheeks at his gaze. She smiled bashfully and lowered her eyes. It had been a long time since a stranger had openly admired her, and that was mostly because protocol and her use of the veil to keep negotiations firmly focused on trade provisions and away from herself.

"There's a balcony right outside your office," he said. "Whenever things got overwhelming, Elizabeth, you, went out there to think." He smiled kindly at her, "So yes, we did spend a lot of time together out on balconies. How did you know?"

She found refuge in the sea. It was somehow easier to speak of these matters so close to the heart when she wasn't looking directly at him. With a sigh, she confessed, "I'm not sure. I think… I think there are two sets of me in my head: Asabeth and then a woman named Elizabeth…I don't really remember her, but I want to. I am. I'm not actively thinking about her, but I know things she does. It's like how I knew how to get to this balcony, but I don't know how either."

This place, she felt, wasn't a random choice on her part, and it wasn't just a coincidence that he was here as well when she had arrived. Was he waiting for her like some sort of test to see if she really was Elizabeth? Or was she reading too much suspicion into his motives, and he had come here because this was his spot too, or perhaps their spot?

"This was… this was your quiet balcony," he told her, confirming her suspicion that she was beginning to know more than she knew. "When you… When you needed somewhere far away to think, this is where you came." He swallowed, "Sometimes, I came along too, for support."

She nodded, the world swaying a little with her movement, "I see."

He frowned at her, "Are you all right?"

She smiled at him, managing to say a steady, "Yes" before her headache tightened into a constricting band around her head and bursting into agonizing wave of fire. Hearing her breathing hitch, she felt herself crumple to the ground as her sunlit world abruptly turned into an unending night. Warm arms arrested her fall and she heard him bark out, "I need a medical team to Sector 153! Savasta, Pileggi!" before darkness took her.

_Following Jiaha's lead down the stairs, she walks into the crowded Main Hall. The room is filled to the brim with all the members of the Sister-House, from the eldest widows to the youngest babes, all of them standing or sitting, all of them waiting to bid her farewell. Unlike other farewell ceremonies of the past (mainly weddings), there are very few decorations adorning the walls and no flowers underfoot, but the prayers and benedictions murmured to her are no less sincere for the lack of material trappings. The younger women speak of her encouragement and constant support; the elders speak of her kindness and patience with all. She moves through the room methodically, making sure she slights no one for time or words. This will be the last time she will speak to them as an equal, as one of them. She has so much she needs to say, and she reminds herself repeatedly that she does have the time to say it, but she must say it _now_. The next time she sees them, if all goes well, she will be a stranger and memory amongst them, one of the blessed ones who have found happiness in life after grief._

_It is when she is nearly at the front of the room that a small blur of energy collides with her legs. __Saila clings to the folds of her skirts, the little girl's small hands fisting the fabric as the child presses herself against the older woman's hip._

"_Mama Asa," she sobs with a hiccup, and Asabeth waves off Jiaha who makes a move to come forward. She runs a soothing hand through Saila's blonde curls and gently disentangles her dress from the child's grip as she kneels onto the floor. The orphaned six-year-old daughter of a culled merchant family, Saila has become deeply attached to the older woman in the past two years, and the same is true for Asabeth. This separation will be the hardest on the mischievous little angel, and for the first time, she wonders if she is truly making the right choice in all of this. She chides herself that Saila is young and will adapt to the situation as she grows, that there is an entire community of adopted older sisters and mothers who will ease the pain, that she will be looked after, no matter what._

"_It's okay Saila," she says quietly, wiping away the little girl's tears with gentle fingers. "I'll come back."_

_Saila shakes her head adamantly, "I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to go!"_

_The girl throws herself into Asabeth's arms and begins to cry. She cradles the child in her arms, murmuring soothing promises that she intends with all of her heart to keep. There is a somber silence in the Great Hall as the entire family-sisters watches the scene play out. All of them understand loss, and while every departure from this House is framed as one of happiness, there is no denying the faintest thread of dread and grief that runs through this room. When Asabeth leaves, they do not know even if she will return again to them. She will not be within a walk's reach or to be found at the Council Hall. There will no opportunity for a chance meeting at the market or during an evening stroll. She is one of their own, stranger though she is, and they pray for her safety while wishing her only the best._

_It feels like mere seconds to her before Jiaha is there, gently pulling the sobbing child away from her. Saila squirms, reaching out for her, as the little girl begs for her not to go. She wonders if her heart is cold as she stands frozen, watching as Saila is handed off to Tilda and quietly taken upstairs. _

_She is pulled out of her thoughts by cold fingers interlacing with her own. It is not a surprise when she turns her head to see that Mera has taken her hand._

"_She will be fine," murmurs the young teacher-in-training. "It will take time, but she will understand." If there is one virtue that could be applied to the at-times temperamental woman, it is her unerring ability to comfort others in times of distress. She is patient, if a little bossy, and utterly devoted to those she calls 'family.' Asabeth tries to take comfort in that knowledge. There is already rumor in the town that Tilda, a married woman and former House-Sister, will foster Saila by the end of the year; the young child will be well-cared for._

_Mera leads her to the front of the room, where a small, hand-carved mahogany box sits on the main table, where the instructor usually oversees her pupils during their daily classes. The lid of the box is open, revealing the loose pearls and the curled silver chains inside. Someone has already strung an emerald-colored pearl on one of the chains, signifying a birthday or a rebirth—_her_ rebirth. This is a memory-chain box, a tradition that every Reiian keeps from one generation to the next. The first stone is given on the day a child is born, and the chain is kept by a parent until the child reaches adulthood and takes on the duty. Asabeth doesn't have one because she had no past, until today, when she sets out to find her stories._

_Her vision blurs as she gently closes the cover, studying the intricate rose design inlaid on the box's lid. She picks up and manages to say a coherent thank you to the room at large. She holds back her tears as people embrace her, murmuring prayers in her ears, holding her hands briefly. Someone drapes a warm cloak over her shoulders before someone else fastens the simple clasp. She is passed through the crowd, from one person to the next, until she finds herself standing at the threshold of the open door._

_For the first time she can remember, Asabeth is seized by a paralyzing anxiety that shortens her breath. A part of her wants to flee back upstairs, to what she has known for the greater part of her known past, to retreat into safety, but a greater portion of her soul insists that she must step forward into the unknown without hesitation._

_Mera squeezes her hand one last time and the two women embrace in a wordless farewell. Pretending she's not crying even as teardrops stain her cheeks, the young teacher stands back to let others say goodbye. Jiaha's hug is tight and she's given up on holding back her tears as she thanks Asabeth for being a mentor and a true sister. The older woman isn't sure precisely what she tells the young woman, but Jiaha is smiling with gratitude and confidence when they part._

_She takes one last look at the crowded foyer, and smiles confidently before she steps over the threshold of the Sister-House. A chorus of goodbyes follows her departure, but none of the women are permitted, by unspoken law and tradition, to walk with her beyond the front door. They are, after all, unfortunate, and all caution must be taken that no misfortune follows anyone who leaves this place. She walks down the porch steps and sets foot on the garden path, memory box carefully cradled against her chest. She is not going to cry._

_An escort made up of the Town Guard waits for her at the end of the garden path that marks the boundary of the Sister-House. They will walk her through the settlement to the Stargate, an honor guard of sorts since her departure to the city of Ancestors will mark the first step forward in the treaty process between the Lanteans and Reiians. She can see that they already have her bags slung over their shoulders. She doesn't have much to take with her, but she's rather surprised they didn't borrow a mule to carry her belongings in order to leave their hands free._

_Her hand placed on the lock of the low garden gate, she turns to look back at the place she's called home for all of her memory. All of the windows of the Sister-House are open, and she can see people almost hanging out of the windowsills to watch her leave. When they see that she's looking back at them, some of the younger children start singing a song of safekeeping at the top of their lungs. She smiles broadly and waves back to them before she undoes the simple mental latch._

_As soon as she steps through the gate, one of the Guards pulls it shut behind her. There is a finality that she hears in the jingle of the lock and she knows that she can never go back to the way things were. She takes a deep breath and begins to walk through the crowded streets, accepting the stares and prayers that are thrown her way. She is a dignified woman, and she will show no fear._

"—there's no reason for her collapse."

The foreign accent fell softly on her ears as she floated in the gentle heartbeats between sleeping and waking. Deciding to venture to peek at the world around her, she realized her mistake a second too late and she slammed her eyes shut against the bright glare. She heard someone whimper quietly in pain. It took her a disturbing moment to realize that the sound came from her.

"Asa?" She carefully turned her head in the direction of her mentor's voice, who ordered briskly, "Could you please close the curtains?" After the sound of metal sliding against metal, Sebian coaxed gently, "Asabeth, can you open your eyes?"

She carefully did what he asked, relieved to see that the sunlight had been blocked out of the private room. A sigh of gratitude escaped her before she asked, "What happened?"

"You collapsed," said Sebian shortly, taking her hand in his. She could see his worry written into the wrinkles of his skin. "You're scaring us too much, Asa…"

Warm fingers slipped around her other wrist and she looked to see a doctor, tall and dark-haired, standing on the other side of her bed. He smiled kindly at her as he took her pulse, "How do you feel?"

"This is Dr. Beckett," supplied Sebian in a quiet murmur. "He's been looking after you."

For some reason, the name seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't place where she had heard it before. Sorrow flittered through her, a deep aching loss that briefly cut through her frustration. She blinked, trying to rid herself of her sluggish thoughts, "My head still hurts."

He frowned, "More or less than this morning?"

"More," she whispered, trying to think past the pounding in her skull. Sebian squeezed her hand, and protectively put his other hand on her shoulder, "Doctor, perhaps we should send her home."

"What?" she breathed, confused, "Sebian, what are—"

"Hush, Asa," he ordered before he continued talking to the doctor, "In all the time she's been with us, she's been as healthy as a muran boar, yet she comes here, to this city, and she's collapsed twice now in the span of two days. That cannot possibly be good for her."

The doctor's expression was a mixture of thoughtful and concerned. Pulling over a high stool, he sat down and looked at her, asking, "Have you touched anything since you've come here?"

"Other than to open doors, or to turn on lights?" she responded, "No."

Dr. Beckett seemed perplexed by her answer because he asked, "Nothing that glowed when you approached or touched it?"

Careful not to upset her queasy stomach, she shook her head slightly, "No."

"Of course, she wouldn't have," an abrasive voice cut in. Sebian stiffened his back, and she could see his defensive walls go up at the entrance of a shorter, cranky man in the room. She gave her mentor a questioning look, one that went ignored. "Carson, I don't know why you even bother asking her. I made sure that they wouldn't be anywhere near Ancient technology."

Half-turning in his chair, the doctor sighed with the exasperated patience of someone who was much too familiar with having to deal with a handful of a child, "Rodney, I'm with a patient right now and that means…"

"It's not like she's objecting to—"

"Rodney, I expect better from you! It's one thing when it's the Colonel or Ronon or Teyla in here, but this is completely—"

"Rodney," she felt relief when she heard his relaxed voice before he came into the room as well. He smiled a little when he saw that she was awake, but continued to address his companion, "she was wandering all around the city."

"I gave my scientists clear orders—"

"Your scientists also tend to leave—"

"Oh please! It's not my fault that your brainless—"

"Stop it, both of you!" said Dr. Beckett sharply, his temper clearly on edge. Surprisingly, the two men immediately obeyed, both of them sliding concerned looks in her direction.

"Now," the doctor continued briskly, "since you happen to be here, do either of you have a LSD or something equally as harmless?"

He didn't hesitate in slipping a rectangular device out of his companion's pocket and tossing it to Dr. Beckett who easily caught it with both hands.

"Hey!"

"Be quiet, Rodney," he threatened mildly, "or I'll drag you on our morning run tomorrow."

That seemed to shut the abrasive man up. The doctor turned to her, holding out the device, "I want you to take this and think _On_."

"What is it?"asked Sebian cautiously. Rodney scoffed, but before he could say anything, he saw the look on his friend's face and stayed silent. The doctor looked relieved at the lack of interruption as he responded, "It's what we call a Life Signs Detector. It can distinguish between different species, like humans and Wraith, which is helpful. I want to see if she can turn it on. Not everyone can do it, but…"

Sebian demanded to know, "You think this will explain what is happening?"

"Maybe," the doctor responded ambiguously, still holding out the device to her. She carefully disentangled her hand from Sebian's tight grip and reached out to touch the Ancient scanner.

As soon as she brushed against the cool surface, its touch screen immediately flared to life and she instinctively jerked her hand back. Judging by the incoherent spluttering of one man and the shocked silence of the other two, she guessed that she wasn't supposed to be able to do that, that they didn't expect her to be able to turn it on. She swallowed hard and scooted a little closer to a very tense Sebian. With a protective arm around her shoulders, he held her in a way that she knew would let him pull both of them to the ground in a heartbeat if necessary. She fervently hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Clearly deep in thought, Dr. Beckett slipped the device into his pocket and said slowly, "I would like to take another blood sample from her, Councilor, and then I think… I think it would be a good idea for you to take her home for a little while."

"Carson…?" he asked cautiously into the fragile silence, placing a restraining hand on Rodney who looked torn between exploding with curiosity and keeling over from confusion. The doctor ignored his question, focusing instead on her mentor, "Councilor, would you permit that?"

"Asa?" he breathed quietly, giving the decision to her. She nodded slightly before he said firmly, "Fine, but I stay with her."

"Of course," the doctor nodded, "of course…if you'll excuse us?" He gestured at the two men who had intruded into her room. Sebian nodded and the doctor cleared the area, closing the door softly behind him.

Once they were alone, she sighed and closed her eyes, sagging into Sebian's comforting warmth. From the first day she had come into his care as a student, he had protected her against all who warned against the incorporation of a stranger into the heart of the Reiian diplomatic ranks. He was her mentor, her father-like figure who patiently explained longstanding traditions to a bemused woman, taught her the complexities of protocol and gently guided her to learn from her mistakes. He was the one who insisted on her inclusion in the delegation, his argument bolstering her own pleas to be included. He watched over her and treated her like she was one of his own children, and she trusted him to look out for her.

"Asa, I am sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "People have been apologizing to me left and right today, and I'm still not sure why."

"Maybe I shouldn't have let you stay where you were seen," he whispered, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here. Perhaps it would have spared you all this pain and confusion."

"I want to know, Sebian. I want to know who I am, not just to you, but… Please. Please give me this chance to know."

He sighed heavily and held her so tight she could hear his heart beating in his chest, "All right, we will continue negotiations with these people, but you," he kissed her hair, "you are going home."

"Okay," she said quietly, silently wondering where her true 'home' was. She missed the fact that she had used a non-Reiian word to indicate her assent, even though she did hear Sebian's deep, resigned sigh. He pulled away from her when the door slid open again and the doctor stepped back into the room, this time carrying a small tray in his hands. Dr. Beckett set the tray on her bedside table and she shifted her position until she was sitting upright on her own. She ignored the way the room swayed around her, even though Sebian reached out to touch her shoulder with a steadying hand.

"No, lay back on your pillows," the doctor instructed kindly, firmly pushing her back to rest against the soft surface. He put on a pair of clean gloves, "Could you give me your left arm?"

As he steadied her trembling limb against the firm mattress, he flashed a reassuring smile at her, "Relax, this will be quick."

He talked her quietly through the procedure, a soothing litany of words that helped her hold back her inner panic. He asked her to talk about her life on Reiia, of inconsequential manners that were harmless as subjects of discussion but immensely helpful in distracting her. When he was done, he asked her quietly, "How is your headache?"

"I'm doing a little better," she answered. He hesitated before he said, "If the pain is bad, I can give you something to help." He gestured to a small vial from his tray. She firmly answered, "No."

He studied her for a moment and then nodded, "All right. You can stay here until you're ready to go."

"Thank you," she said, and it was a sentiment echoed by her mentor. With a polite smile, the man gathered his equipment and quietly left the room. She sighed and sank back into her pillows. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to clear her thoughts, before she closed her eyes with another heavy sigh.

With Sebian standing guard, she dozed off into a light sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Coming Home**

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

**Disclaimer**: Other than being a fan, I have absolutely _nothing_ to do with Stargate: Atlantis in _any_ way, shape or form.

**Author's Note**: I would like to send an extra-special 'Thank You' to my triplet-sister who, despite knowing nothing about Stargate: Atlantis, acted as my sounding-board, editor and beta-reader for this story. This story is the sequel to _Three Years to Eternity, _and I strongly recommend that you read that story first before continuing on with this one. This is the final part of this particular story, but I promise that there are more installments to come.

**Spoiler Warning**: anything and everything up to _Ghost in the Machine_.

* * *

_At the start of the rocky footpath that winds its way down to the Stargate, she finds the entire diplomatic corps assembled by rank and seniority. Most of them, she has worked with before and are good colleagues of hers. She quickly picks out a few faces in the crowd, the people most important to her, and standing beyond them, she sees the Lantean gate team waiting to escort her back to the city, back to her new home. This is where the handover of custody will happen, as it usually does for new brides coming to or leaving from Reiia to attend to their new households, except this time, she has no one waiting for her to come home—at least, no one she knows for certain._

_Faith, she reminds herself firmly, and wills her hands steady as she passes her memory box to one of the Guards for safe-keeping. The young man breaks his grave, blank expression to smile reassuringly at her as he accepts the hand-carved treasure from her hands._

_Leaving the Town Guards behind her, she walks forward with steady footsteps and comes to stand in front of Sebian, who is clothed in his ceremonial, formal robes. He stares at her solemnly before taking her hands into his and then he leans forward, brushing his lips against her forehead, before he straightens his back. _

"_We shall always be thankful for your service, and we wish for you every blessing. The Ancestors be with you, Asabeth of Reiia," she hears his voice hitch slightly as he officially names her one last time, "and may Elizabeth of Atlantis be blessed with all the joys of life as such you have enjoyed, and so much more."_

"_May the Ancestors look kindly upon you and our people," she responds steadily, squeezing his hands. He smiles at her and whispers for her ears alone, "Strength, Asa. Have faith and strength."_

_She nods as she steps away from him, moving on to the lesser Councilors, repeating the same rituals of thanks and blessings with these members of her second family as she did with her family-sisters. All too soon, she comes to stand in front of Medora, the younger woman's face scrubbed clean of any traces of tears. The two of them go through the formal ceremony without actually hearing the words they say to each other. There are bonds of the heart that transcend the ability of words, no matter how graceful or sincere, to fully express. For them, words will suffice, but never be sufficient to explain who they are to each other. Their hands linger together for a heartbeat longer, and that is all. Duty is, duty done. Medora looks away, and she walks on._

_She turns to the Major and his team with a smile on her face, even as her heart pounds in her chest. She is afraid, but she can't show it. She wonders why the feeling is so familiar, caged panic beating just below her breastbone._

"_Be brave," she hears someone whisper in her ear, a father's voice on the wind, a ghostly touch pressing a cold stone into her empty palm, her fingers instinctively curling around smooth metal, "Be brave, my beautiful Elizabeth."_

Jiaha sat with her in the back gardens of the Sister-House, the two of them peeling tateos for the evening meal. As they worked, the women discussed the small rivalries that existed among their sisters and the challenges that arose in trying to provide a stable family-like environment for a large group of people comprised mainly of orphans and widows. The conversation flowed easily between the two of them, as it did on most afternoons, but she kept finding herself distracted from the stream of words flowing out of the normally taciturn woman's lips, and gazing off into the summertime garden as her hands unconsciously worked on autopilot.

"He will be back soon," said Jiaha, pulling her out of her thoughts. Asabeth blinked, "I'm sorry?"

The young woman smiled, "You have been staring off in the direction of the Stargate since the sun neared the horizon. It is clear your heart is elsewhere."

"Jia," she scolded gently, "Sebian is my mentor, nothing more."

Her companion laughed and shook her head, "I know _that_. You have told me often enough, but what I meant is that your heart has not been here, not since you visited the city." She added with a toss of her hair, "And before you start, we trade with many cities, not just that one."

"All right," she sighed, dipping her tateo in the bucket of clean water. "You win."

"You do not want to talk about the man who has stolen your heart away?"

"There is nothing to talk about," she responded evasively, picking up an unpeeled tuber. Jiaha giggled and teased lightheartedly, "So there is someone!"

"Please, stop."

"You are really _that_ worried," stated the young woman quietly, sensing her friend's mood, "that the talks will not work out. I don't understand: Sebian is our best negotiator and the Lanteans want to trade."

"It's more than that."

"Of course it is," said Jiaha patiently, "but you haven't said anything about it to me. So what is it?"

She put down her half-peeled tateo, "Do you ever think about before you came here?"

Jiaha nodded slowly, "When I was younger, yes."

There was a wistful look in her eyes as she continued quietly, "I wondered if maybe my parents had accidentally left me behind, or if one of my older siblings survived the earthquake. I wanted to be a merchant-diplomat when I was little; I thought that maybe that way, I could find them, or that maybe they would come back here one day, and then they would see me and take me back home." She sighed pensively and then shook her head, "But those are the dreams of a lonely little girl." Jiaha looked at her friend, "Those aren't dreams for you?"

"They knew me, in the city," she said quietly. "That's—"

"They are your blood-family?" interrupted Jiaha, amazement spreading over her face. It was the widely known, and yet private dream of many a House Sister for a kin-by-marriage relative or even a generous family to one day come to the gate of the residence and claim a House-Sister as a daughter, niece or cousin. "That's wonderful!"

She shook her head, "It was why I was nearly barred from going."

"What?" exclaimed the younger woman in shocked confusion, "They would not welcome you?"

Asabeth shook her head as she peeled away another slice of the tough skin from the edible part of the plant, "It's very complicated, Jia. It's very…very complicated."

"How can it be so? Are they unkind?" asked Jiaha anxiously. Dropping her peel in their waste container, Asabeth shook her head, "They… it's not the time or place, Jia. I don't understand it completely myself."

"Ladies," said Sebian politely, standing a few feet away from the two women. Jiaha immediately rose from her seat, putting down her knife on their impromptu table, "I'm going to see if we need to peel more of these things. If we do, I'm going to recruit the upper classes into doing this with us; otherwise the sun will have risen on tomorrow before we're done!"

With a polite bow to Sebian, the young woman hastily vanished back into the Sister-House. She looked at him, reading very little in his calm expression (besides bemusement at Jiaha's abrupt departure), and bent her attention back to her task, washing the peeled tateo into the basin of water. Sebian took a seat by her side and wordlessly reached into the basket of unpeeled tateos, taking out one of the larger vegetables. Picking up one of the small knives, he began to peel away the rubbery skin of the tuber plant and dumping the shavings in a tub. When the tateo was fully peeled, he rinsed it in a bucket of water before stacking it with other cleaned tateos in a basket padded with a clean cloth. They worked in silence for a long while, the only sounds in the clearing the soft patter of tateo peels hitting the bottom of their container and the drip of water when they washed the vegetables.

"What did they say?" she asked quietly, rinsing her knife for a moment. He put his blade down in his lap before he said, "They would like you to return to their city, to stay."

She looked at him, half in disbelief, "To stay?"

"Yes," said Sebian quietly. She sensed his worry and asked with an edge of anxiety, "Is this a provision of our trade agreement with them?"

"No, no," he shook his head. "The trade agreement goes ahead whether or not you agree to return."

"Then what bothers you so?" she asked with a small smile. "Don't tell me that it's nothing, because I know you too well."

"There is nothing more than only minor doubts on my part." He patted her arm, "I have been reassured over and over again of your safety, and I am inclined to trust the word of these people. Major Lorne has been nothing but truthful from the beginning of our dealings with his city, and… I believe that Colonel Sheppard has taken it upon himself to protect you."

"What makes you say that?"

"It is…an instinct," he said, picking up his knife again and hefting a tateo in his other hand, "Do you remember what I told you?"

"The day Sergeant Parker saw me," she put down her peeled tuber, glancing briefly at him before she selected another tateo from the pile in front of them, "you told me that you felt the winds were changing—for good or for ill, you weren't sure."

"I think it will be for good, Asa," he said quietly, using her informal nickname. Sebian flicked a particularly stubborn piece of tateo skin off his fingers and into the pile of peelings.

Her hands stilled briefly at his words, the slightest hiccup in her rhythm as she worked. She looked at his stern expression before she asked rhetorically, "You think so?"

He nodded, "I think it is time."

Recalling his prophetic words over half a year ago, she glanced at him, hearing the surety in his voice, "You believe so."

"Yes," he said firmly, "it is clear where you belong, Asabeth, and it is not here. You are content with negotiating for grains and fruits, but we both know it is not meant to be your life's work. I have always wanted the best for you, and I believe that you will thrive in Atlantis. It offers you opportunities that we can only dream of giving you. I think you will be happy there, and I believe you should go." He paused, studying his tateo and finding one unpeeled spot. "As always though, this decision is entirely up to you."

Her hands never stilled as she continued to work, staying silent as she processed her thoughts one last time. To be honest, she had made up her mind several times over since the weeks she had returned from Atlantis, at times saying that she was content to stay on Reiia, and other times wishing she could leave at once. She didn't know if she would have to choose between being Asabeth and being Elizabeth, but she hoped that she could be both. Could she stay here, never quite a part of Reiian society, yet never giving up what was familiar to her and be at peace with that decision? Or could she risk it all for what was beyond her world, plunging recklessly into the unknown for a single chance at regaining who she was?

She thought back to his visit a fortnight before, the way the two of them slipped away from the others to walk along the forest paths, and how they spoke of many things underneath the trees' shade. He laughed at her tales of trickier negotiations she had survived and he made her smile with lighthearted stories about his home and people. It was an afternoon where the hours melted into nothing, running past like the spring streams, and she was sorry when it came to an end.

It was just before they rejoined the others in the town that he had turned to her and fumbled his way through delivering Mr. Woolsey's message to her, a proposal that was being presented in the formal treaty proceedings as well. She had stared wide-eyed at his words, taken aback by the generosity of what he was saying to her. Even now, she knew she would never forget his solemn, fervent words to her.

She believed it when he had sworn to her that he would protect her with his life; she believed his vow with a certainty that rivaled anything else she knew about herself these days.

But even if he hadn't said anything along those lines, she knew she wanted to end the limbo she found herself in, caught between two pasts and having to choose between them. She had never shirked from gaining knowledge, especially if it could help someone. This time, she could help herself by taking an incredible leap of faith.

In the end, did she truly have a choice in all this?

"If I go," she said slowly, "I could come back, if I…if I wanted to?"

"Yes," said Sebian, "I believe so, and there will always be a place for you here. Never doubt that."

She placed the last peeled tateo on the stack and washed her hands in water before she spoke again, drying her hands on her apron.

"I want to go."

"_Ma'am," says Major Lorne politely, holding out a hand for her to take. She accepts his offer of escort with a small smile. The rest of his team greets her with friendly grins and turn down her attempts to take her own belongings away from them. She glances over her shoulder at her now former colleagues and meets Sebian's eyes. He smiles and half-raises his hand in benediction. She turns away to leave her past behind and to find her past again._

_Calling the barely visible dirt path that winds its way through sharp turns and narrow openings in the stone ravines a footpath is a generous description. It would be all too easy for unscrupulous invaders or unwary visitors to stumble on the uneven path with its jutting rocks and gnarled tree roots that snake randomly across the trail. It takes someone who is familiar with the terrain to navigate the path from the town to the Stargate without getting lost. Because of this, the journey down into the ravine is made mostly in concentrated silence. The Marines are very careful of her safety, insisting that she travel in the middle of the group, rather than guiding the way. They lift her over obstacles, insisting on steadying her balance when she needs no aid, and generally hover close around her, their presence comforting rather than stifling. Despite their unfamiliarity with the area, the men move very swiftly over the rocks as if they've been on Reiia for nearly all of their lives._

_It doesn't take long before they're standing in front of the Stargate. One of the Marines goes forward and presses in the right combination of symbols for Atlantis. She stands with the rest of them, her belongings finally gathered in her hands, as she watches the shimmering pool of water form in a swirl-burst of energy. Like always, it has a mesmerizing beauty, and she almost misses the exchange between the Major and the city she will call her new home in a matter of minutes. She wonders if the fluttering of excited nervousness she feels beating in her throat has been felt by every young bride and groom who has passed this way on their journey to a new future._

_Speaking into the radio clipped to his vest, the soldier says, "Lorne to Atlantis."_

"_Good to hear from you, Major," says a slightly accented voice on the other end of the conservation, "Everything all right over there?"_

"_Yep, we're ready to come home."_

"_Shield's lowered, Sir."_

_Surrounded by her escorts, she approaches the shimmering pool of the Stargate. While she has traveled this way many times in the past, in the back of her mind, she knows that this will be different in so many ways. Perhaps she carries with her the weight of too many expectations and dreams, but what else does she have but the faintest hope that she will know who she is? She hesitates slightly just as two of the Marines step through. The Major waits patiently as she gathers her nerves, his expression sympathetic to her unease. She smiles a little at him in thanks and he inclines his head in response._

_Taking a soundless deep breath, she walks through the Gate of the Ancients with her head held high. When she emerges on the other side, she stops short at the sight before her. The enclosed room is filled with people, patiently waiting for her arrival, with more inhabitants of the city lounging against the balcony railings that ring the spacious and lofted hall. The sapphire light behind her disappears as Major Lorne steps to stand behind her and there is a moment of deep silence. Unseen in the mass of people, someone begins to clap and soon the welcome applause spreads until the salutation is echoing from the walls. With an amused glint in his eyes, Mr. Woolsey steps forward from the crowd. She sees him standing only a few feet away, surrounded by his team and those she knows are closest to them both._

"_Welcome back to Atlantis."_


End file.
